Knock Out
by Alina-Cantha
Summary: Homer x Panther. Homer clearly remembered one of the times he’d gotten sacked – or, to be more exact, he remembered everything that happened prior to both of the Gonzalezes’ hitting him at once – one high, one low.


**Title:** Knock Out  
**Pairing:** Homer x Panther  
**Summary:** Homer clearly remembered one of the times he'd gotten sacked – or, to be more exact, he remembered everything that happened prior to both of the Gonzalezes' hitting him at once – one high, one low.  
**Notes:** A request for someone on my Livejournal.

**Disclaimer:** Eyeshield 21 doesn't belong to me. I just write about it.

---------------------------

Whenever Panther wasn't collecting footballs, cleaning cleats, washing gear, or doing whatever other demeaning task Apollo was making him do, he was on the sidelines, usually stretching in the grass beside the bench. Normally, he kept his eyes down, but every so often, Homer caught him watching their practices with a look that could almost break your heart.

---------------------------

Homer clearly remembered one of the times he'd gotten sacked – or, to be more exact, he remembered everything that happened prior to both of the Gonzalezes' hitting him at once – one high, one low.

He'd dropped back for a pass, arm cocked and eyes scanning the field, when it seemed as if time slowed down for a moment. His eyes caught the movement of Panther sitting up from his deep leg stretch, sweat glistening all over his lanky body. As he stood up, Homer suddenly couldn't believehow _long _Panther's legs were, and how muscular they were for being so slender.

And his sudden reverie ended when everything sped up again and everything went black for a while, Apollo's shout of, "What the hell are you _doing_?" ringing in his head.

---------------------------

When he came to, he was stretched out on the sidelines, with Panther gingerly holding an ice pack to a swelling lump on the back of his head. Blinking blearily, Homer sat up and waited for the world to stop spinning, then took the ice pack and pressed it against his head himself. It had been a while since he'd taken a hit like that – normally, Apollo kept his quarterbacks off limits to sacks like that – too bad that hadn't been the drill they were running.

Glancing down, he could see another one propped up on his knee.

"The brothers?" he grunted.

"Yeah," Panther answered, handing him a water bottle. "Drink slowly or you'll puke."

"Thanks," Homer muttered dryly.

"Anyways, they totally decked you. Your helmet flew off and everything," Panther explained, with accompanying explosive hand gestures.

"Damn."

"Watt thought you were dead."

"Oh, c'mon. I'm tougher than that."

"And _you _didn't see how hard they hit you."

"I _felt _it though," Homer grumbled, removing the ice pack for a moment and poking gently at the bruise developing on the back of his head.

"Whaddaya, got your head out of your ass now?" Apollo snarled, stalking over from the end-zone. He stood over Homer and Panther, tapping his pen impatiently against the top of his clipboard.

"Yes, sir," Homer muttered, standing shakily, supporting himself on the bench nearby.

"Sit down," he ordered. "You got knocked out – there's no damn way you're getting back on my field today. Went and screwed all my practice plans to hell."

"I'm sorry, sir." Homer ducked his head – not a smart move, as that made everything spin around him again.

"Shower up and get the hell out of my sight. You, help him out." Apollo pointed imperiously at Panther before storming away, puffing furiously on the whistle around his neck.

---------------------------

Homer managed to get himself dressed, though slowly, with Panther sitting nearby, making sure he didn't pass out again or something. That done, the pair walked out to the parking lot, Homer jingling the keys to his motorcycle.

"Nope," Panther declared, snatching them out of the air. "You're not driving anywhere right now. Not like that."

"I'm not drunk or something like that," Homer grumbled, swiping awkwardly at his keys, while Panther just jerked them out of the way. "I just got knocked on the head, now give 'em!"

"No. You can't even see straight."

"Well, I'm not leaving my bike in the damn parking lot all night. It'll be gone by midnight."

"Probably true. So I'll drive you home!" Panther's face creased into a huge grin, showing almost all of his teeth.

"You don't even drive a car!" Homer pointed out. "Hell…no." _Even if you are pretty cute_ _when you smile like that_, his subconscious added. But dammit, that's what got him in this mess in the first place!

"I learn pretty quick." Panther clambered onto the bike and put the keys in the ignition. Still smiling, he patted the seat behind him. "Hop on."

And suddenly, Homer's brain was at war with itself. _Oh, just do it_, said one side – while the other wailed that they would both die in a massive fireball. Too bad the former half won. It was just a short ride after all. Right?

"Start it up," he grumbled, sliding onto the leather seat behind Panther. Grinning like a kid in a candy store, Panther did, making the engine squeal as he overturned the key. A chill ran down Homer's spine. _Oh, God…_

---------------------------

It took them forty-five minutes of downshifting, hard breaking and surging forward by turns to travel the three miles to Homer's house. Panther clung white-knuckled, to the handlebars the entire time, while Homer clung to Panther's waist, fighting the urge to bail out – not that it would really hurt, as they only hit their maximum speed of 30 miles per hour for about a second before they slowed back down to a crawl.

They both could have sworn they saw their lives flash in front of their eyes, albeit slowly, and they both let out huge sighs of relief when Panther finally turned the bike off.

"Thank God," Homer muttered, climbing off and practically kissing the ground.

"I think I was getting the hang of it," Panther answered, beginning to get off. In the process, his leg pressed against the hot metal of the bike's engine.

"Ow, ow, ow!" he suddenly howled, leaping away from the motorcycle, clasping his hands around his calf. "What the hell was that!"

"Engine," Homer explained. Figured – _now _he was feeling a little better – nothing like mind-numbing terror to treat a concussion. "Here. I've got some lotion for that inside." He started for the door, waving Panther along with him.

Inside, he rummaged through the medicine cabinet in the bathroom, attempting to ignore his subconscious again. _You're just angry because you were too busy worrying about him wrecking your bike to realize that you were actually clinging to his back._

"Ah, here it is," he announced, shutting the cabinet door and turning around, suddenly finding himself face-to-face with Panther

Stammering apologies, they both danced around each other for a moment before Homer slammed the toilet seat down and pointed. "Sit."

Panther did. "Really, it's not that bad," he told Homer, crossing his injured leg so he could get a better look at the burn.

Homer sat down on the edge of the tub across from Panther, unscrewing the cap on the burn lotion. "You got yourself pretty good," he commented, ignoring Panther's protests. The burn extended from the inside of Panther's ankle and up an inch or two on the inside of his leg. Homer poked cautiously at the reddened, burned flesh before he squirted some burn lotion into his hand and rubbed it in, lightly using the palm of his hand.

Head bent, he concentrated solely on his task – otherwise, he would have noticed Panther staring at him. Homer's hands moved gently over Panther's cal, massaging those lean muscles that had, in a way, been the cause of all this in the first place.

Then he realized how long he'd been touching Panther's leg, even though all the lotion had long ago been rubbed in. He jerked his hands away, trying to fight down a rising blush.

"Hope it helps," Homer said, standing up quickly.

"Oh, definitely," Panther assured him. "Feels better already." He stood up as well, and gave Homer one of those huge, heart-melting grins. "Thanks."

Homer's subconscious kicked him again. "I-I have something I wanted to say to you."

_Oh, real slick._

"Hmm?" Panther had a puzzled frown on his face, though inside his heart was racing. Stupid, stupid hormones – or whatever the hell that did this to him.

"I've…been watching you for a long time. _Oh, way to sound like a freak stalker._ "And…"

_Oh, just say it already._

"I think I like you." The phrase came from both their mouths at nearly the same time.

A thrill ran through both of them, causing a short moment of silence before Homer finally said, "Really?

"Sort of, yeah."

"Whaddaya mean 'sort of'!" Homer mock-growled, lunging forward and catching Panther in a headlock.

"All right, all right!" I really like you!" Panther gasped, breaking free from Homer's grip, eyes dancing with laughter.

His eyes caught the clock through, and he cursed under his breath. "I've gotta get home, or I'll be late for dinner."

"Yeah," Homer answered, a bit reluctantly.

"I'll bring you some oatmeal tomorrow – it'll help your head," Panther offered.

"Heh," Homer snorted. "Probably just make it worse."

"Don't let her hear you say that," Panther scolded, stepping out the door.

"I won't. She'd whack me with that spoon and I'd be out cold again."

Panther laughed and waved, already almost flying down the street. "See you tomorrow!"

"Later."

Homer shut the door, turning then to press his back against it – his head was spinning again, though whether it was Panther or the concussion, he wasn't quite sure.

_Not exactly the big love confession you planned now, is it? _his subconscious prodded.

"Oh, shut up."


End file.
